


Portrait of an Outlaw

by RedBirdBella



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Barely any Natasha im sorry, Clint Barton Bingo, Clint is tired and hurt, Drinking, F/M, Hospitalization, Injury, Police AU, anyway for now, i need to let him be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 23:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBirdBella/pseuds/RedBirdBella
Summary: Clint is an undercover police officer working to convict a gang of cat-burglars. After being unearthed he’s beaten up and left for dead in an alley. From his hospital bed, he’s asked to work with a sketch artist to put together portraits for each gang member. Unfortunately, he can only remember one.





	Portrait of an Outlaw

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first square in Tumblrs lovely Clint Barton Bingo. I am still working on Inifinity beats forever and the second chapter should be up next week. I just needed a happier outlet for a couple of days.

It felt like a hangover. Well, a bad hangover whilst still being drunk. But he hadn’t been drinking had he? He couldn’t remember drinking, but then today there wasn’t much he could remember. Better not ask the doctors about it all though, the nurses were giving him weird glances that his singular working brain cell told him not to probe too deep into. Clint would just have to work that out himself he was a detective after all wasn’t, he? Yes, DI Clint Barton, master detective, undercover operative, and coffee addict at your service. Maybe its not concussion after all he thought hopefully, maybe its just caffeine withdrawal. Could he get a Coffee IV stat! No, well a man could dream. He’d been dreaming now for 5 maybe 6 hours now and light had gone from creeping to crawling to damn near burning up the thin white blinds that separated him from his barely civilised city outside. He was, unfortunately, a very busy cop, and he wasn’t about to pass up the chance for a nap. A sharp tug on his blankets later and he’s closing his eyes ready to drift off for as long as possible.

He doesn’t dream this time, or maybe he just can’t remember it. Either way, waking up is still as awful as usual, worsened by the presence of strangers in his room.

“What’d’ya want? cause I ain’t got it”

“Good Afternoon to you to Detective Barton, I can see the concussion hasn’t taken away your usual joy de vie”

Ah, Captain Rodgers, no, no, no! Now was not the time he wasn’t even wearing pants….. again. The blush that rises to his cheeks makes him straighten up even if all he can manage is to card his hands through his hair with an awkward laugh. Wait where was his hair?!

“You’ve um got a bandage, you took quite the beating some of your head had to be shaved for the stitches. Apparently, you thought you were getting a mohawk, the nurses would appreciate it if you didn’t perform rock songs at the top of your lungs anymore. You are and I quote ‘tone deaf’.”

“Kinda ironic huh?”

Captain Rodgers doesn’t reply, simply looking to the older man stood beside him.

“Yesterday was unfortunate, but we’re glad you’re doing well. We need to push on with the case, there was another break-in last night, so the decision was made to see what was left behind after your concussion. You had a meeting with the gang the night you were brought in so Mr Wilson here has been invited to draw your old friends so we can schedule a little reunion. We understand your condition but any information you can give us would be advantageous. I’ll leave you to it” And with his point made he walks out, well marches, military habits die hard.

“Oh, um bye then!” Clint sighs trying to sit himself up before vertigo pushes him back into the bed. It takes a few seconds to compose himself after that, boy he was getting old, “Welcome to my humble abode Mr Wilson. I’d offer you a drink but apparently, my health care plan didn’t stretch to refreshments. Clint Barton by the way”

“Sam Wilson.” He says sitting down gently in the chair opposite Clint pulling the lap tray down to lean on, “You’ve had training on how this is going to go down correct?”

“I speak, you draw.”

“Correct. Where would you like to start?”

“No small talk? Alright, ok. Last night, we met in a bar. There were 7 of them I think- wait, no 8, 9 at the most”

“Pick one. Let’s not bite off more than we can chew”

“I’m not eating anything, nil by mouth apparently. Ugh, look I’m not sure I can remember much beyond pain, darkness and the dirty alleyway they found me in”

“Sounds like a typical Saturday night if you ask me. Take your time, I still get paid sketch or no sketch.”

But Captain Rodgers would want one. Fine, the bar, a murky group of people then, red. Oh, that was new and a thread worth pulling. Red Dress, Shoes, Furniture, WAIT a redhead! Now he was getting somewhere, long red and curly hair so likely a female. Typical. A flash of black then a drink. Spiked. Of course. Clint pinches the bridge of his nose, so a redhead in a black dress spiked his drink. Fantastic work there Barton! He presses on, hoping to redeem himself with an image of the lady in question.

“I think I’ve got something. A red-headed female 5”5 in heels so 5”2, 5”3?”

“Build?”

“Muscular.” Clint replies quickly, he grits his teeth, waiting for Wilson to sketch out an outline, trying to grind out more details about the redhead. 

“Ready”

“Show me. - No more feminine than that, with curves and y’know” He gestures to his chest.

Sam raises an eyebrow and reaches for his erasure without saying a word.

“To your taste Barton? Or would you like me to draw the dress too?” His voice is low, and Clint can hear the mirth bleeding through all the professionalism. Clint had half a mind to describe the dress just to put Wilson through the trouble of drawing but he vocabulary to describe Women’s clothing was even more limited than the one he already had. He doubted that ‘little black dress, mid-thigh, and just right for his tastes’ was an accurate artistic description.

“It’s fine”

“Age?”

“Somewhere between 23-27”

“Nationality?”

“Eastern Europe. At a guess Russian”

“Any distinguishing features on her arms or legs?”

“Like a few small freckles on her arms, probably had some on her face under the makeup?”

Sam nods, “Now the face, we have to get the face shape correct to aid identification. I’ve got sheets with a selection of face shapes and they’re names to help.” He pushes up the tray setting down the sketchbook and the standard police regulation Identification kit treated in the finest laminate. Clint studies the sheets finger brushing past each of them as he studies, “This one, the heart- wait no, it was thinner at the bottom. The cheekbones are right though” he hesitates over the circular shape before discounting it. Finally, his eyes settle on the triangle, “This, but softer than the sketch here” 

Wilson nods and quickly outlines a face that Clint nods his agreement to, “Now the features, start with the eyes”

“Big but that could have been the eye make-up. Green but also kinda blue - like a stormy sea“ Ugh that was cheesy and of course Wilson had to notice. Wasn’t it time for a nap yet?

“I’ll note that down.” He says with a raised eyebrow, suppressing a grin, “And was her nose as cute as a button?”

Clint’s fingers itched with the desire to flip the bird in the artist’s general direction he could blame the concussion he thought with a grin. The perfect excuse but the moment passed. “Nah- Big nose, maybe a little crooked”

Sam took a while to show him the drawing after that “Like this?”

It stuck out like a sore thumb, the cartoonish exaggeration Sam had drawn, it dominated the drawing pulling in the eye if it was a joke Clint wasn’t laughing. 

“It suited her better than that! C’mon dude, you’re an artist! She was /attractive/” it dances on his tongue but he couldn’t just admit that. It was subjective the guidelines for doing this sort of thing were against that kind of thing. They were probably also against Criminal – cop attraction but Clint pushed that to the back of his mind. Hopefully, the concussion would take care of that.

He sighs smiling sheepishly “Smaller. Maybe not crooked”

“It’s alright man, I’ve got some sheets like before to narrow down the options”

Clint quickly scans the sheets that are presented. A nose was just a nose after all. He finds the one that fits best and watches Sam sketch it in. There’s a slight smudge where Sam’s original drawing had been, she wouldn’t like that. 

Ears followed after that and Clint started to wonder if he was getting paid for this. Or his time spent next to the dumpster bleeding out.

“Starting to take shape?” Sam asks offering Clint the artists pad containing the sketch.

No. That was the short answer. The silhouette didn’t capture her grace and the eyes were missing they’re mischievous glint contrasted by the deep shadows of her Iris. No artist on earth to capture the sound of her laugh, or the warmth her touch sparked, but then the public didn’t care about all that.

“It’s like she’s in the room with us mate” A nap was calling and there was no point in restarting now.

“Lips?” Wilson asks.

“Deep red but again probably make-up. Big, each side ended at the middle of her eyes. Bottom lip was bigger- probably double the top one-“The words perfect and delicious and all too damn kissable rattled around his brain. Kissable. why was that ringing a bell, and why was that bell an alarm bell? Aw no. no. no.

Sam turns the completed picture around “Are we finished?” Yes. Clint Barton’s Police career was finished. He’d kissed a criminal and in what was quickly becoming very apparent in his hospital gown, he’d very much liked it. Thank goodness for the brilliantly placed lap tray.

She was the redhead who’d followed him to the bar after the meeting had finished. It was all coming back now. 

They’d met before or at least they’re eyes had across the meeting room and that was enough familiarity Clint needed to offer her a drink. She’d ordered a double shot of vodka and he’d ordered, well he’d ordered a double expresso he did have a job to do after all. She’d laughed at him but tapped her drink against Clint’s and downed it in one. He’d followed suit but the coffee burnt in a whole new way and totally unpleasant way. He was way too old to be trying to impress pretty girls he ruled as she laughed through his stuttered coughs. 

“Good choice leaving the shots to the grownups.”

“Hey, double expresso still a shot.”

“That statement is considered high treason in Russia” It was Clint’s turn to laugh. She’s serious, for a second, before unleashing a flirty smile in the barman’s direction. He’s more than willing to complete her order of two more double vodka shots, less so when she starts nudging one towards Clint. So maybe she hadn’t spiked his drink, well drinks. One shot had led to another and well he was getting information out of her, so it still counted as work. She was sweet, with a wicked sense of humour and perfect for flipping if they could just get her to testify. It was just a job to her, one that had allowed her to escape an abusive family and gave her a new-found freedom she was intending to explore to the full. 

Slowly talk changed to the gang of thief’s behind them and more importantly to Clint’s role. He was a security specialist gone rogue hoping to help them get past more complex security setups and she was fascinated. Until the shots kicked in.

“Impress me” She’d purred and well rules were meant to be broken and it wasn’t like he was going to do illegal. Well, not more illegal then his current role in this undercover op. She’d pinched 3 darts from behind the bar and he’d led her into the alleyway.

Wait what?!

He’d lead her into the alleyway by the hand shhing her in a loud hiss when she laughed. They’d been tipsy, and happy and breaking so many of the Captain’s precise guidelines. Suddenly Clint was regretting ever wishing the concussion away. How the hell was he going to explain this to Rodgers?!

They’d broken into the bin with sufficient ease and found the thin metal cans Clint needed, which he’d set up on top of the bin like a tin can alley out of a perverted funfair.

“Pick one” She had. Shot 3, Hit 3. The game had really escalated from there. Advanced in its difficulty until suddenly they weren’t playing anymore, and he had his back pressed up against the cold damp wall and his lips pressed against something much hotter. And Boy, was it good. She relaxed against him kissing with a lazy need that probably meant they were only getting started.

She hummed arms pulling him closer before the waves of guilt crashed over him, he pulled away sharply resting his head against the wall. Damn, there was no good way to say this.

“I’m a police officer”

She blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Excuse me”

“I’m a police officer”

She sprang back staring.

“Leave! I won’t tell them, but you need to leave now. Run.”

“This is my operation I can’t just leave”

“And I can’t let you arrest everyone. I’ve worked so hard to get here, to get to the point where I can drink in a bar with anyone I want in a country I love, you can’t take this way. I won’t let you”

“Your hurting people, what your doing your not breaking some stupid law that doesn’t matter. What your doing is selfish, help us and we can help you-”

That’s when he’d noticed it. The shadows were alive. Well maybe not alive but there was someone or something lurking there.

“Having second thoughts Barton?” The shadows had asked before it had all snapped to black.

He glances at the sketch once more, and her eyes stared back. Natasha Romanoff or Spider the others had called her. “Perfect, hopefully, this will get us an ID” He compliments Wilson mind racing. 

Someone had to have called the police and then the ambulance, hadn’t the debrief stated a female voice had called him in very shortly after the attack or he wouldn’t have survived. Rodgers had joked it was Clint’s guardian angel coming back from a night out, but it was now more likely becoming his spider-fling. If it was, she was in hot water. The bar owner self-righteous about having his property crawling with police had become even more upset after he gets arrested for running a betting syndicate and was awaiting trial.

She’d need protection. People to watch her back from those looking to make a statement. The snitches that got stitches were the lucky ones around here. But something nagging deep inside of Clint told him not to activate full knight in shining armour mode just yet. Natasha wasn’t the type of girl you rescued, she was the kind you motivated to save themselves. Clint just hoped he’d done enough.


End file.
